Journal of Bert van Balen: The fool on the hill

12th of November 2013 0

Journal of Bert van Balen: The fool on the hill

bert bales photo diary Bert van Balen: The fool on the hill Bert van Balen ( 67) has, after his retirement as a photographer, more or less based in Thailand, especially in Chiang Mai. He lives in a rented house for six years with a Thai woman who bore him two children as a relic from a previous marriage. The reason for his stay in Thailand can be found in his book â € ~ back Hurray, I Kankera € ™.

She is just sitting on a rock, dressed in her traditional dress and looks around. She looks around and her eyebrows are frowned. Her gaze serious. Around her turn tourists themselves gazing at the view. The mountains that mark the valley. The clouds like cotton wool crepe the tops. In the valley have formed white spots that indicate precisely at that place the sun has broken. The white spots move as the wool that curls around the mountains.

It has nothing to do with it. She knows the picture since they developed a consciousness and has accepted the picture as being the only thing on earth. Further, not her knowledge. Sea and oceans they never saw. From other countries, they have no knowledge. Other peoples are presented through its fully loaded buses of tour operators, but where exactly the people who come by bus uitkotst, escapes her completely.


Strange smells her nose

She looks around. She sees differently dressed people. Other skin colors. They hear foreign languages. She heard shrill voices of white women and white men of deep bass. They can also smell them, the people who have just a bus stepped out. ZOA € ™ Strange odors excite her nose.

are not the odors to which they are accustomed. Those of flowers. The smell of her mother, her father. The smell of the food that morning â € ™, â € ™ â € ™ in the afternoon and evening always smells the same and yet your stomach’s growling. She looks around. Sitting on her rock. Her place. Long before there was a restaurant located. Long before there terraces were built. On the edge of the mountain where stunning views afforded over the valley

There is food served. Fast running back and forth men and women. Boys and girls actually. Not equal, as they, in costume, but in jeans, short skirts, strange cut the hair of the boys, the hair of the girls hanging loose to the shoulders. They are busily back and forth. Call each other things that are related to password cutlery. Forgotten water. Forgotten glasses. Forgotten beer.

Some whites laugh. Some look grim. They talk. At a stretch they talk. They can not understand. They only see the body language. Her trained eyes see what she has never seen, by her father and mother, but which they now know that it means dissatisfaction. And here they are thinking about. This makes her look as she looks at her immediate surroundings, seriously.

Any resemblance to the Keukenhof is wrong here

We walk in the flower of Mon Cham. Almost on top of one of those mountains where you can fairly easily get. From Chiang Mai through Mae Rim The temperature down saves at least ten degrees, I guess, because I think they’re already cold.

Led by my wife we ​​were from Chiang Mai to Mae Rim ridden and beaten at the last traffic light. Where a large billboard indicates that restaurant is just down the Tiger. Turn left, go straight, right, a muddy road, hairpin bends, steep. . . as we reached the flower, at least as it is called.

Any resemblance to the Keukenhof is here fail for lack of a wide variety of flowers. It is more of a field growing up against the mountain flowers resembling daisies that Oooâ € ™ s and AAAA € ™ s need to call, Â and not just get it done at a Dutchman who is accustomed to vast flower fields in the most wild colors.

No, the place must have the view over the valley far below you. But it can also we or too early or too late in the year to experience. The essence of it on the right way And even then. It turns ZOA € ™ s place again. ZOA € ™ s place you must have seen. As a tourist on a tour through the north of Thailand.

Come and look. Enjoy the view. Enjoy the flowers here

Where unspoilt nature. Where villages are built on the mountainside. Covered with corrugated wooden shelters where playing a simple life. Come and look. Enjoy the view. Enjoy the flowers here. Enjoy the people who work and live here. See how simple. See how armmoedig. You will still have to live.

her serious look is the same question decided. You will still have to live. Life without the traditions which your ancestors you have failed. Dressed going as they were dressed. Believing in which they believed. Do the same things they did. Century after century.

Her anchor point is the rock on top of the mountain where it overlooks the valley Here she spoke with the dead. Her ancestors. Here she was told that everything is fine as it is. Not with words, no voice that told her. But just by knowing it. Everything is exactly as it is being done.

And with a deep blissful feeling she looked out over the valley saw white spots where the sun had broken through. Saw clouds against the neighboring mountains collide, there are around curls. Everything was good as it was. Arrived until the dump trucks. Monsters, a deep humming sound regurgitating. Fully loaded with soil and sand. Her rock was ground and sand deposited and then flattened by another. Monster

There were men. Many men who were carrying wood. Poles stakes in the ground. There again to boards against hammered. One in her eyes immense house was built. And there again next small thatched cottages. And her view of the valley was narrower day by day.

With big bites, lunch is cleared

tourists sit uncomfortably on a thin pad to a much too low table under a thatched roof on the edge of the mountain and allow themselves to bring the food and drink. Patches are expanding cloud over the mountain and for a moment the valley hidden from view.

A thick fog envelops the top and dissatisfaction on this phenomenon in finding a scarf or a cardigan. It then focuses only on the food. With big bites, lunch is eliminated. The beer with a few sips firm drunk. Some are already on before they BEA «terminated the meal. They shiver and walk back and forth on the assumption that exercise brings their sense temperature up.

Here and there someone a cigarette. Someone looks at his watch. Most likely rejoicing at the pool that Rati Lana excellent hotel in Chiang Mai. The luxury of the room. The extremely pleasant service. It is nice though, to see this as once, but here. . .

The man looked at his watch, discovered the girl in dress sitting on rock. Would be a nice picture, he thinks. Something like the Little Mermaid in Copenhagen. He walks back to his table, which he had laid. His camera bag with his digital SLR He changes objectively. He chooses a long focal length. Then he does not need to be close to the girl to come there is still a nice close up of it.

He puts on such a hunter pulls his gun and is ready to hit a deer in the heart. Despite the still large gap between hunter and wildlife, has put in costume child by him. For a moment she stares at him. Narrow eyes that stab straight into the lens.

Narrow eyes that say, steal my soul also. The camera clicks. Twice, three times. . . and the man lets his camera bags and looking at his little display the result. Nothing to see. Only the gray mist which the top of the mountain is shrouded. He keeps it on the circumstances. Normally he makes quite nice a Photo € ™ s.

previous Journal Bert van Balen â € ~ € ™ BR076â appeared on October 3, 2013.

Submitted communication

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